


Plea Deal

by BibliovoreOrc



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Gen, Ravnica (Magic: The Gathering), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BibliovoreOrc/pseuds/BibliovoreOrc
Summary: Azorius Lawmage Ceilia Levont is summoned to court for what she is told will be a routine hearing. What transpires is anything but.
Kudos: 11





	Plea Deal

“Is there a telepath here?”

Ceilia Levont looked up from her cups to see one of the first-years – a worried-looking man called Dryden – standing in the door to the lawmage’s canteen. At least, Ceilia thought it was Dryden. She’d gone off her shift several hours ago, and since then had been playing citations. Citations was a game the lawmages devised, in which they were challenged to recite obscure statutes – the penalty for failure was drink.

Ceilia – who had had a long day – had been playing to lose. She had emptied a half bottle of brandy, and was feeling pleasantly warm.

Frustrated by the non-response, the man in the doorway – she was now fairly sure it was Dryden – repeated his question.

“Kaska’s a telepath,” Ceilia said, and was pleasantly surprised to hear the words come out unslurred. “But she’s already gone home for the night.”

“No good,” Dryden said. “I need someone here.”

“So send a bailiff to get her,” Ceilia said. “It won’t take more than an hour.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Dryden said. “I need a telepath now.” To emphasize the last word, his hand chopped the air in frustration.

Ceilia shook her head – a gesture she immediately regretted. “What’s the rush?” she said.

“Rush is, I’ve got a squad of arresters just busted a riot over in Parha, and now the docket’s backed-up worse than a Rix Maadi privy,” Dryden said. “There’s more Rakdos down in holding than a diversion club – it’ll be a miracle if we get them all processed tonight. And now I’ve got this gorgon mute jamming up the works.”

“Gorgon?”

“Yeah, gorgon,” Dryden said, kneading his temples in frustration. “Just a kid, really – came in before all the Rakdos. Now she’s in the dock, and refusing to plead to the charges. At first, well, we thought she was just being obstinate, but now…?” Dryden shrugged his shoulders. “Now we figure that maybe she’s deaf.” He sighed. “So I need a telepath, now. The whole docket’s stuck unless someone gets the gorgon to plead.”

“Ceilia can sign,” another of the citation players said, drunkenly. “That good enough?” In reply, Ceilia aimed a kick under the table, but missed.

“Yeah, should be,” Dryden said, and he motioned for Ceilia to follow. “Come on.”

“Hold on,” Ceilia said. It was true she could sign – her best friends in school had been twin homunculi – but it was also true she was drunk. “I can barely stand. And, unless there’s two of you, I’m seeing double.”

“So what?” Dryden said. “I’m not asking you to prosecute. All you have to do is translate the charges, and plead the gorgon out. It’ll take all of a minute.”

“Fine, fine,” Ceilia said, deciding it would be quicker not to argue – and less painful, too. She got unsteadily to her feet. “But you’re going to have to help me,” she said.

Dryden took her arm, and helped her to the assizors.

“Don’t throw up on my boots,” Dryden said.

* * *

The three judges looked up as Ceilia entered the courtroom, their hooded faces showing varied degrees of impatience. The procureur – a bespectacled vedalken, who Ceilia knew, but did not like – was shuffling scrolls at her table. The prisoner sat stooped in the dock.

When Dryden had called the accused gorgon a “kid,” Ceilia had pictured a sullen-eyed teen. But the girl cowering in the dock couldn’t have been more than ten, and something about her made Ceilia’s heart bleed. She just looked so small, against the scale of the courtroom, and she visibly shivered from fright. Her hands and ankles were both bound with glowing injunctions, and an opaque hood was pulled over her head.

“Your honors, I object,” Ceilia said, taking her place next to the client. “The girl is deaf, and can’t see. Without the chance to read lips, how can she possibly plead to the charges?”

The procureur cleared her throat. “And – for the record – you are?”

Ceilia silently cursed the brandy, which was making her forget procedure.

“Ceilia Levont, appearing for the defense,” she said, and then hastily added, “if it please the court?”

“So recognized,” the procureur said, and noted as much in the record.

Ceilia looked up at the three judges – two humans, one sphinx – seated high up above on the dais. The judges’ marbled elevation, combined with their gold and azure robes, leant them an air of graven authority.

“Your honors, I renew my objection,” Ceilia said. “My client must see the proceedings.”

“Overruled,” the sphinx said, who was the chief of the three. “The hood is for the court’s safety – lawmage Levont, you know better.” The judge nodded to the procureur. “Officer, reread the charges.”

The vedalken cleared her throat, and consulted a scroll. “The prisoner,” she said, “an undercity resident – name unknown – is hereby accused of the following charges,” and she held up three fingers, before counting them off. “One, on the charge of unlawful trespass. Two, on the charge of resisting arrest. And, three,” the last finger dropped, “on the charge of willful murder.”

Ceilia felt her blood run cold – why the hell hadn’t Dryden told her the charges? _Just plead it out – like hell,_ Ceilia thought to herself. This was a murder, and she was half drunk.

She turned around to look for Dryden, but the first-year was already gone – which was probably a good thing, Ceilia thought. Otherwise, there might have been a second murder.

“How does the accused plead?” asked the gravel-voiced sphinx.

Ceilia squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to will herself sober. Standing next to her, the gorgon shook and shivered.

Since the hooded gorgon could neither hear nor see, there was only one thing for Ceilia to do. Kneeling down, so that she was roughly the gorgon’s own height, Ceilia reached out, and tried to take the gorgon’s left hand.

At the first brush of contact, the gorgon jumped back, and instinctively tried to pull away. But the injunction spells bound her, and Ceilia held firm, and – working as calmly and as gently as she could, given the circumstances – Ceilia wrapped her own hands around the gorgon’s, and softly molded the girl’s thin fingers into the sign for the word “safe.”

Once again, the girl started, though less violently this time. Ceilia herself shivered – the girl’s fingers were cold.

The gorgon’s hand relaxed, and – again – Ceilia formed the word: _safe._

Then Ceilia let go, so the gorgon could sign back.

After a moment’s hesitation, the gorgon repeated the word: _safe?_ Ceilia took the gorgon’s hand, and this time the girl did not resist.

_Yes,_ Ceilia signed. _Safe._

_Who are you?_ the gorgon signed.

_I am a lawmage,_ Ceilia signed back. _My name is Ceilia._ She spelled the word out. _I am here to help you._

Slowly, the gorgon nodded.

_Do you know where you are?_ Ceilia signed. _Do you know why you’re here?_

_No,_ the gorgon signed, twice.

Ceilia’s signing was rusty, and she didn’t know words like “assizors,” but she did her best to explain.

As the silence wore on, the procureur cleared her throat. Ceilia could sense the judges growing restless.

“How does the accused plead?” the sphinx asked again, its wings beating one impatient beat.

The gorgon was signing rapidly, telling her side of the story. Her knees shook as she spoke – Ceilia wanted to hold her. Although she could feel the judges’ collective glare, the lawmage refused to be rushed.

When the gorgon had finished signing, Ceilia stood up, and put resonance into her voice. The spell was a simple one – and old lawmage’s trick – but it worked. And, as an added bonus, it helped her to steady her nerves.

“Your honors,” Ceilia said, “my client contests all the charges.”

Ceilia caught the quick flash of annoyance which flickered across the three judges’ faces. The procureur – less covert – sighed aloud, and glanced openly up at the clock. The four of them had clearly expected Ceilia to plead the case out, as lawmages routinely did. Virtually no prisoners brought before the assizors chose to contest the charges. Azorius justice – while by no means predetermined – placed a premium on order, and the procureur’s charges were accorded great deference.

Arresters, it was understood, were not in the habit of detaining the innocent, and procureurs, it was equally understood, would bring no charges if there were no crime. Thus any prisoner appearing in the dock did so with the overwhelming presumption of guilt. Still, the accused were entitled to representation – on that, the law was quite clear – and were entitled to make their own case.

And that was just what they would do.

“Very well,” the procureur said, rearranging her papers. “We will assize the charges in order. On the first count – that of unlawful trespass – what is the prisoner’s defense?” Speaking to the judges, the procureur said: “I will remind the court that the accused was arrested in Ovitzia Market, which – after dark – is strictly off-limits. She was inside an upholsterer’s storeroom.”

_Is that true?_ Ceilia signed to the gorgon, after repeating the charges.

_Yes,_ the gorgon signed back.

_Why were you there?_ Ceilia asked her.

The gorgon’s shoulders drooped. _I wanted to feel the silks,_ she said.

“Your honors, my client was unfamiliar with that district,” Ceilia said, which was likely enough. “She had no idea that the area was under curfew.”

That, Ceilia suspected, was likely not true. But she hadn’t asked, and therefore didn’t know, and therefore could not knowingly perjure. _That’s the ghost of the brandy talking,_ she thought. It was making her reckless.

“For the record, the court does not stipulate to the prisoner’s defense,” the procureur said. “But it is immaterial either way. Ignorance of the law is no excuse; the statute on trespass is quite clear. Your honors, I call for the verdict.”

Ceilia and the procureur both looked up at the judges, who shifted in their seats on the dais. In front of each judge, there was a small, silver box, divided in two equal halves. On the half on the right, a white rune was etched. The rune on the left was dark red.

After a perfunctory moment’s deliberation, each of the judges raised their left hand, and the three left-side runes lit up red.

“Guilty on the first count,” the procureur said, and noted as much in the record. In the dock, the gorgon gave no reaction – Ceilia hadn’t the heart to tell her.

“Moving on,” the procureur said, “we come to the final two counts, which we shall assize jointly, as the two are related.” The vedalken glanced up from her notes. “I enter into the record the sworn statement of the arresters, and – as your honors will see – it is quite clear.” The vedalken waved two of her arms, and duplicate copies appeared before Ceilia and each of the judges.

Ceilia read the statement.

“Your honors, this is ludicrous,” she said. “My client was attacked from behind.”

“It is learned counsel who is being ludicrous,” the procureur said, pushing her spectacles up the brim of her nose. “What counsel calls ‘assault’ was a lawful arrest – which the prisoner violently resisted.”

“According to the statement, the arresters were off-duty,” Ceilia said. “They were not in uniform.”

“They identified themselves,” the vedalken said.

“My client is deaf!” Ceilia shouted in reply. She was losing her cool, which she knew was a mistake – histrionics were counterproductive in an Azorius courtroom. But Ceilia was mad, and the brandy wasn’t helping. “She was scared – she’s only a child.”

“Only a child?” The procureur scoffed, and looked down her nose. “A child who petrified an arrester.”

Ceilia squeezed her eyes shut, and she took a deep breath. The room spun unhelpfully, but she counted to ten. Then, opening her eyes and again kneeling down, she took the gorgon’s small hand, and summarized as best she could what had been said.

As Ceilia signed, the gorgon’s body shifted. She became tense, and her demeanor changed. As soon as Ceilia let go of her hand, the hooded gorgon started signing so fast that Ceilia could barely keep pace.

“My client says that three men grabbed her from behind,” Ceilia narrated, fighting to keep her voice level. “They were strangers to her – she did not know their faces. Whatever they said, she could not hear it.”

The gorgon’s hands flew, signing faster than before. And, as Ceilia listened, she felt her heart sink.

_I thought they would hurt me,_ the little gorgon signed. _People have hurt me before._

And then she stopped signing, and a great shudder racked her body, and, even through the barrier of the opaque black hood, Ceilia could tell that the gorgon was crying.

Ceilia put her hand on the gorgon’s shoulder, in what she hoped was a gesture of comfort. A second, heaving shudder racked the small body, followed quick by a third, and then the gorgon signed five final words.

_I had to protect myself,_ she said, before her head dropped, and her hands fell silent.

“Your honors,” Ceilia said, “my client was attacked from behind by three men she did not recognize. She defended herself, as any reasonable person would.”

“Petrifying an arrester hardly constitutes reasonable self-defense,” the procureur said.

“With all due respect to the court,” Ceilia said, trying – and failing – to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, “learned counsel is not a three-foot-tall girl.”

“A gorgon does not have to be tall to be a menace,” the procureur said, and in that moment, it was all that Ceilia Levont could do to keep from throwing her copy of the statutes.

Ceilia Levont was a New Prahv lawmage. She believed in order. She believed in the law. But this was neither of those.

“Your honors,” she said, feeling horribly resigned, “the defense has made its case clearly. The accused has committed no crime.”

“An arrester is dead at the prisoner’s hand,” the procureur rebutted. “The facts of this are not in question.” She addressed the bench, her voice almost disinterested: “Your honors, I call for the verdict.”

As the judges’ heads bowed, Ceilia shifted her body, positioning herself between the gorgon and the bench. But the gesture was meaningless, and there was nothing Ceilia could do to shield the small, sobbing gorgon from the three runes which all lit up red.

* * *

The bailiffs had come for the gorgon before Ceilia could explain what had happened.

The docket – Ceilia thought bitterly – was full, and the assizors were already behind schedule.

They frogmarched the gorgon out of the courtroom – no fewer than six bailiffs, in full armor. The gorgon – clearly terrified – thrashed and screamed. She had no idea what was happening to her, who was dragging her, where they were taking her. No one had bothered to explain. Her black hood was still pulled tight.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Ceilia was running after them. She elbowed her way past the rearmost pair of bailiffs, and squeezed herself between the two massive guards dragging the gorgon by the arms. Then, before, the bailiffs could object, Ceilia helped the gorgon so that she was at least standing on her own feet. Ceilia held the gorgon’s hand, and she felt the little girl’s shaking subside – not a lot, but at least a little.

_Safe?_ the gorgon frantically signed.

_No. Not safe,_ Ceilia signed back, pointedly ignoring the bailiff’s stares. _Stay calm. I will help._

The lead bailiff drew his sword. “Get away,” he said. “The lawmages have no jurisdiction now.”

“Do you want to have to drag her – kicking and screaming – all the way down to detention?” Ceilia said. “Or would you rather she walked?”

For a minute, the bailiff just stared at her, stone-faced, and Ceilia thought he was going to argue. But, at last, he sheathed his sword, and motioned for her to follow.

“Fine,” he said. “But keep pace. We’re running behind already.”

“Very sensible of you,” Ceilia said, as she fell into step with the knot of armed men. She put one hand on the tiny gorgon’s back to help guide her. With the other, she squeezed the gorgon’s hand tight.

“Where are you taking her?” Ceilia asked, as they descended down stairs into the network of tunnels which linked the assizors at New Prahv to the massive detention compound which sprawled beneath the Tenth District.

“Detention sphere,” the lead bailiff grunted. “Solitary.”

“That’s madness!” Ceilia said. “She’s a kid!”

“She killed an arrester,” the bailiff said.

“And that’s all that matters,” Ceilia said bitterly. “Isn’t it?”

The bailiff said nothing.

_Safe?_ the gorgon signed. Ceilia did not know how to reply.

Ceilia’s mind raced. She had to do something – but what? She was mostly sober, now, but that hardly mattered. She couldn’t attack the bailiffs. They were armed, and she was not. They were soldiers, and she was not. It would be six on one – suicide.

That didn’t matter. She had to do something.

Her repertoire as a lawmage was of painfully limited utility, and Ceilia cursed herself for not going into the justiciars. They had more martial spells. Still, she gathered in her mana, thinking.

They were coming to a bend in the corridor. Ceilia made up her mind. When the first two bailiffs turned the corner, she would dispel the gorgon’s bonds. Then she would try to get the lead guard’s sword. Hopefully, that would buy the gorgon some time.

Not much time, Ceilia thought ruefully. But it would have to be enough.

The lead pair of bailiffs were approaching the corner. Ceilia felt her muscles grow tense. _Get ready,_ she signed to the gorgon.

Then – before Ceilia knew what was happening – all hell broke loose.

Arrows whistled around the corner, along with a blast of dark magic. The first volley of arrows bounced ineffectually off of thick, Azorius plate, but the darkblast staggered the man that it hit, and, as he dropped to one knee, a cloud of living shadow seemed to envelop him, and, with a flash of steel beneath the unlight, some unseen hand cut his throat. Blood splashed briefly across the figure of a shadow-shrouded woman, before the outline vanished, and the air grew cold.

“Arms, arms!” the bailiff captain was shouting, and he went to draw his sword.

Ceilia forgot all about her spell. Instead, she dove at the captain, hitting the back of his knees with all her weight. Her attack was clumsy – amateurish – but she caught the man unprepared, and he toppled, losing his balance. Ceilia went down, too, and the bailiff landed on top of her, crushing her beneath fifteen stone of solid muscle, and half as much again of hardened steel. All the air exited Ceilia’s lungs in a single, explosive gasp. Her head hit the stone, and her vision swam red. The captain tried to roll off her, but he was on his back, now, and the plate made it hard for him to move. He was still fighting to work his sword free, but on his opposite hip was a small, double-edged dagger, and Ceilia grabbed it from his belt.

Ceilia heard the captain shout, but the throbbing in her head muddled the words. Giving up momentarily on his sword, the captain lashed out, kicking at her with steel-capped boots. But the tangled state of their bodies restricted his range of motion, and he couldn’t put real force behind the blow.

Just inches away from her face, Ceilia saw the narrow slit between the captain’s helm and armored shoulder. She could hear his curses echoing inside the helmet.

Ceilia levered the point of the double-edged dagger into that narrow gap between the armor. Then she pushed it as far as it would go.

Ceilia heard the captain scream. It was a terrible, animal scream, that started out as a bellow of rage, but soon became a wet, gurgling choke. The bailiff’s whole body convulsed, and he rolled off her, onto the ground. Ceilia scrambled to her feet, wincing as she tried to suck air through crushed ribs. The bailiff was flopping on the stone floor, like a dying fish. The hilt of the dagger was sticking out from the gap in his armor, along with several inches of blade. The man’s hand was scrabbling for it.

Ceilia kicked the exposed end of the dagger. The blade slid all the way in, with a final cry of steel scraping steel, and the bailiff stopped moving.

Frantically, Ceilia looked around, trying to get her bearings. The two bailiffs in front lay motionless – the one face-down with his throat cut, the other on his back, his arms and legs splayed at horrible angles. Behind her, Ceilia heard the sounds of fighting. The little gorgon stood pressed against the wall, her back to the cold marble, her chest heaving with fright. She was trying to pull off her hood, but the knot was pulled tight, and the gorgon’s wrists were still bound. Blood was splashed across the front of the gorgon’s shirt. Ceilia hoped that the blood was not hers.

“Stand still – let me help you,” Ceilia said, before shaking her head in frustration as she remembered the gorgon couldn’t hear. So she scrambled over to where the little girl stood, and, taking the gorgon’s hand in hers, she signed, _stand still!_ Then she set to work on the knot.

The fighting noises had stopped, and Ceilia had almost gotten the hood loose, when she heard the sound of a sword being drawn behind her. Ceilia spun round to see that the bailiff who had been lying on his back earlier was less dead than she had assumed, and was now looming over her and the gorgon, with his sword in his hand, and murder in his eyes.

Ceilia went to raise her dagger, then realized she’d left it in the dead captain’s neck. She swore.

The bailiff took a step forward.

“First, I’m going to kill the sewer snake,” he said, levelling the point of his sword at the quivering gorgon. His eyes moved to Ceilia. “Then I’m going to kill you.”

Ceilia pulled the little gorgon down, and covered her with her body. She doubted it would make much difference, but it was all she could think to do.

Her hand found the gorgon’s, as she shielded her with her body. _Be brave,_ Ceilia signed, _be brave,_ as she waited for the flash of pain that would be the last thing she ever felt.

Ceilia waited, and waited, and waited. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, could feel her heart beating in her throat, could feel the gorgon clinging to her.

Still Ceilia waited, but still the blow did not come.

“Get up,” said a hard voice. Not the guard’s.

Slowly, warily, Ceilia got to her feet. Slowly – warily – she turned round.

The bailiff was still standing behind her, his face frozen in anger, the point of his sword barely an inch from her chest. Only he did not move. He did not speak. He did not even breathe.

The bailiff had turned into stone.

Ceilia glanced back at the little gorgon. The heavy hood still covered her head.

“Turn around,” the hard voice said. Ceilia did as she was told.

The corridor was empty. Just a maze of bodies and shadows.

Then, as Ceilia watched, one of the shadows started to move. It detached itself from the wall, and slithered slowly towards her. And, as it moved, the shadow took form. It became shimmery and translucent, like a pane of smoked glass, and its shape grew distinct and more clear, taking on the outline of a woman. Then, as though some unseen curtain had been parted, the shadows drew aside, and the woman herself appeared.

She was a tall, powerful gorgon. The claws on her right hand were like razors; in her left, she held a bloody knife. Writhing snakes wreathed her head like a profane halo; her eyes glowed yellow in the halflight. She was clad in soft, leathery armor, which tapered to many sharp points, and gave an aggressive silhouette. Her skirt hung in artful green tatters, which swayed like windblown reeds as she walked.

Everything about the gorgon looked both deadly and regal. She moved silently, like a predator, but carried herself like a queen.

Ceilia’s mouth went dry. She knew who the gorgon was.

“Get away,” Vraska said, and motioned for Ceilia to step back from the kid.

Without hardly daring to breathe, Ceilia did as she was told.

Vraska moved to stand next to the girl, who was now struggling to work herself free. Vraska waved her hand, and the detention spells around the girl shattered.

Then, in a gesture of supreme contempt, the assassin turned her back on the lawmage, and – with a single, deft swipe of her claw – she cut the drawstring and pulled the hood free.

For the first time, Ceilia Levont saw the face of the gorgon she’d tried to save. Her snake hair was matted and tangled. Her eyes were puffy and red. Tear tracks stained the scales on her cheeks. She looked small, and exhausted, and scared.

She looked like a kid, Ceilia thought. She looked like a regular kid.

Human, gorgon, Azorius, Golgari – none of it mattered. Ceilia saw that now. She saw it all in the face of that kid.

Just a kid, like any other, who deserved to live, who deserved to be free.

_Are you alright?_ Vraska signed to the gorgon.

_Yes,_ the little gorgon signed back.

_Did they hurt you?_ Vraska signed, glancing back at the lawmage.

_No,_ the little gorgon said.

_Good,_ Vraska signed. _We’re leaving._ And she took the little gorgon by the hand.

Then, to Ceilia, Vraska gave a withering stare. “Don’t try to follow,” she said.

“Wait,” Ceilia said, and moved to go after the gorgons, before Vraska froze her with a yellow-eyed glare. “I want to help.”

“You’ve helped enough,” Vraska said, her voice cold and hard. “Now leave before I change my mind.”

The little gorgon tugged on a strand of Vraska’s skirt. The assassin looked down, and a stream of sign language passed between the two gorgons more quickly than Ceilia could follow.

When the assassin looked up, she fixed Ceilia again with her unblinking eyes, and Ceilia saw the same intensity there as before. But, this time, some of the hard edge was gone.

“Eesha says you tried to help her,” Vraska said. “For that, you have my thanks.”

The little gorgon – whose name must have been Eesha – looked up at Ceilia, and waved. Ceilia smiled and waved back.

“So, thanks,” Vraska said. “Now leave.” And, putting her hand on the little gorgon’s back, she moved to shoo her away.

“Wait,” Ceilia said again. “I want to do more.”

Vraska turned around, and then – faster than Ceilia could blink – the assassin was standing right before her, so close that Ceilia could smell the scent of death.

“If you really want to help,” Vraska said, holding Ceilia transfixed in her gaze, “then go back to New Prahv. Go back to your job. Keep your head down. Forget about Eesha. Forget about me.” Her hard, yellow eyes didn’t blink. They stared straight through the back Ceilia’s skull. “When the day comes that I need you, that you can be of use to me?” Vraska said. “Then you’ll see me. Not a moment before.”

“But I can’t go back,” Ceilia said. “I killed a bailiff. I’m a traitor.” She pointed down at the captain below, lying in motionless in a pool of blood. “If I go back to New Prahv, I’ll end up back down here – in a very small detention sphere.”

Vraska glanced down at the dead body, then back up at Ceilia. Then, faster than Ceilia could react, she punched the lawmage – hard – in the jaw.

Ceilia went down, head reeling. As she lay stunned on her back on the cold marble floor, feeling the dead guard’s blood soaking into her robes, the assassin knelt down over her, and, with all the precision of a surgeon, she raked two sharp sets of claw marks diagonally down Ceilia’s torso. The slashes cut cotton and silk, and went deep enough to draw blood, so that Ceilia gritted her teeth with the pain. But the gorgon placed her wounds carefully – they did not sever anything vital.

Then Vraska snapped her own dagger in half, and dropped the blade next to Ceilia’s head.

“Now you’re no traitor,” the assassin whispered in the lawmage’s ear. “Now you’re an Azorius hero. So wait to be rescued, and do what I say.”

Ceilia nodded. Her jaw hurt like hell.

Vraska stood up and left. Her feet made no sound as she went.

Through the haze of pain, Ceilia propped herself on her elbow, and raised her head far enough to see Vraska and the little gorgon walking off down the hall, stepping over corpses as they went. Then, just before they disappeared around the corner, the little gorgon – Eesha – looked back, and make the sign for goodbye _._

_Goodbye,_ Ceilia signed back.

Then lawmage Ceilia Levont lay back on the floor, in a puddle of cooling blood. She picked up the assassin’s broken dagger, clutching it tightly in one hand.

“Not guilty, your honors,” she said, for no one to hear but the dead. And, when she passed out, she passed out with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Magic: The Gathering and its characters are the property of Wizards of the Coast. This is a transformative work of fanfiction, protected in the United States under the laws of Fair Use.
> 
> All works copyright their respective creators.


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